Reflections on a Peacemaker
by Celesma
Summary: In which Vash discusses his relationship with guns. An animeverse fic, in four parts.
1. Innocence

A/N: I don't think I've ever seen any fic that explores how Vash feels about guns, and it just got me to thinking one day... the result was this basic gen fic. It takes place directly from Vash's perspective. This first part reflects a personal canon of mine (as in, something that didn't happen in the series but what I think _could_ have happened, either between the scenes or in flashbacks), so I'll understand if that's not everyone's cup of tea.

* * *

**Reflections on a Peacemaker**

**I. Innocence**

Guns kill.

It's as simple as that. They were not _made_ to do anything other than what they do, which is to take life, or to grievously injure; and in the case of the latter, well, there's plenty of other ways to do that. Sure, you could purchase yourself a gun and only ever take it to a shooting range, but just think about what those targets represent. Target _practice _is just that: practice for killing another living creature.

But I believe guns can be peacemakers.

You see, I'm sort of an outlaw on my planet. That means guns play a pretty big role in how I live out my day-to-day life. Vash the Stampede's my name. Maybe you've heard of me? I assure you, I'm much more handsome-looking than the guy on the wanted posters.

...All right, so I'm not much of a comedian. But did you ever wonder how someone like me came to pick up a gun in spite of my personal philosophy? (Another thing they don't get right: I'm a _pacifist, _not a psychopath!) It's something that mystifies even _me _on occasion. I guess that's why I've finally decided to open up about this.

I guess I should start at the beginning – and I do mean the beginning, where things were still pure and unspoiled, and humanity was still capable of welcoming their future with open arms. It had been six months since my brother Knives and I were first birthed from a power plant on the mother ship for Project SEEDS. Because we're plants, we developed very quickly, and soon gained the awareness (if not the immaturity) of ten-year-olds. I have to credit the crew for resisting the temptation to subject us to endless experimentation – beyond running some initial tests on us to determine how we came to exist (which never _was _discovered), they never had us contained in any creepy mechanical get-ups, or invaded the privacy of our bodies with sharp tools. (Believe me, I'd be screaming bloody murder!) We were given an incredible amount of freedom. But freedom sometimes – just sometimes – comes with a price tag.

That was when I had my first run-in with a real gun. And if things hadn't turned out the way they did, well, I probably wouldn't even be sitting here talking to you.

You see, we were just kind of sitting in the Rec Room, waiting for Rem to come back from her room, where she was making us a "real home-cooked meal" (in her own words. Rem never took too kindly to the instant stuff that came out of the tubes. "We're not living like astronauts in the twenty-first century," she'd argue with Captain Joey, "we have things like _artificial gravity_ now! Just because you're a man and you'd be content living on noodles for the rest of your life doesn't mean..." Oh, but I'm getting off-topic now, aren't I?). But anyway, that's where we were, and I was starving. Like, _really _hungry. I was about ready to start climbing the trees to get at the apples up there, even though they hadn't yet fully ripened. Knives was looking infuriatingly calm and chiding me for my lack of restraint – as per usual – when we both saw the gun.

We had no idea where it had come from. One minute there'd been nothing there on the grass, and the next there was this shiny new thing staring us in the face (after the whole thing was over and done with, for a while I honestly felt that there was something always looking out at us through the barrel, plotting our demise). My first impressions were of pearly light glinting off of its sleek exterior, as well as a certain... _allure. _Even from a distance, it looked like the most impressive toy I'd ever seen.

"What is it?" I asked. Remember, I was six months old. I couldn't have told a gun from a teapot. I sauntered up to it to take a closer look.

"I don't know," Knives replied, a little chagrined. I could tell that he didn't like that there was something he didn't already know the answer to. He joined me in inspecting the gun. Not wanting him to hog it, I suddenly picked it up by the grip, placing the barrel against my eye.

"It's too dark," I complained. "I can't see anything."

Knives motioned to me. "Let me see it."

"In a minute," I said, pulling the gun away from my face and turning it over and over in my palm – quite clumsily, I might add. It was definitely too big for a kid like me to be handling, and yet I couldn't bring myself to surrender it. After a few seconds in which I fiddled with a strange switch on the side (said "strange switch" was the safety), I suddenly had an epiphany. A very stupid epiphany.

"It must be a food dispenser," I said, trying to sound as knowledgeable as possible. As if to match my action to the tone of those words, I drew myself up to my full height and sort of puffed out my chest, like a peacock. "You just pull this little lever here – " I gestured to the trigger – "and food shoots out."

"How do you know that?" Knives asked, a bit peeved that I was on to something sooner than him.

"What other explanation is there? One of the crew members must have been using it and then accidentally left it here."

_"Really?"_ Knives said in his most annoying Mister Know-It-All voice. "I'd like to see some proof of this." He held out his hand, but I wasn't budging. Once something was in Knives's possession, you could pretty much count on never seeing it again until he had first taken it apart and put it back together, and _never _in the same condition it had initially arrived in.

"You can have it after I figure out what kind of food is in here," I returned. I started to raise the barrel – in my mind, a harmless tube – to my lips.

"At least aim it at something other than your mouth," Knives said, ever the sore loser. "You'll get germs!"

"I don't care if there's germs, I'm _starving." _And with that, I pulled the trigger.

Silence. No food, no sounds, no _nothing. _The trigger was stuck; I couldn't complete the action. We both stood there, at a loss. I tried pulling the trigger a few more times, but the result was the same every time. I took the gun away from my mouth.

"Nothing happened," I said, disappointed.

"Maybe it's empty," Knives said. He sounded disappointed too, like he'd wanted to know what was in it, even if he wouldn't admit it. "Try flipping that weird switch back. Maybe the food's locked in or something."

I was about to comply with him when we both suddenly heard a woman screaming. Our bodies immediately tensed, the same telepathic thought passing between us – _did something happen to the ship? _– and the gun was instantly forgotten.

Then I looked up, and I _saw._ The woman was Rem. The reason I didn't recognize her voice was because I'd never, _ever _heard her scream like that. She'd dropped the bowls of chili that she'd been carrying as she walked into the Rec Room, and their guts splattered across the grass as though a very bloody accident had just taken place.

Everything that happened next sort of blurs in my mind now, even though I've got a photographic memory. I remember cutting sensations of air as she suddenly appeared at my side, like a genie; and then the sound of bone (her hand) striking flesh (my cheek). It was the first – and last – time she ever raised her hand against me. I actually didn't even feel it, but I placed trembling fingers over my cheek anyway, as though doing that would somehow summon the pain that was supposed to follow when you got slapped in the face, because nothing _else _was making any sense right now. Why had she done that? What had I done to make her angry? I felt like a pathetic mutt that rolls over and exposes its belly to its tormentors, wanting desperately to please them; and I would have done anything to take back the anger that Rem felt towards me now.

Then the feeling was gone, as Rem suddenly clutched me to her chest and buried her fingers in my hair, alternately stroking me and crying and thanking God and yelling at us what did we think we were _doing_, didn't we know that if the safety had been off Vash would have gotten himself killed? At first I couldn't follow any of it. It was like a foreign language, so instead I just sank into her clothes and breathed in her perfume and loved her, loved her so much for not hating me. After a few moments, I came back out of myself, enough that I could understand what she was screaming at my twin.

_"How could you, Knives? How could you let him do it?"_

"I... I'm sorry," Knives said, as humbled and as shocked as he had ever been in his life. "I didn't know..."

We later found out that the gun belonged to Steve. The matter was serious enough that it warranted convening all of the crew members together to severely reprimand him for his actions. The man looked pale and was shaking as he explained that he'd accidentally left the gun there while drinking off-duty. But – and he _swore _to this – he had left the safety on, as per the regulations for firearms use within the SEEDS crew.

Rem's eyes were cold and steely as Steve spoke, and after the meeting I heard her personally exchange words with him, to the effect that if he_ ever _did something so reckless again, she would make sure he didn't return for duty. I could tell it would be a long time before she forgave him for his mistake. (And guess what: she eventually did. Rem is nothing if not indiscriminately kind.) Afterwards, she took me and Knives aside and explained exactly what guns were and what they did.

That day contained a lot of firsts for me... and for Knives, as well. It was the first time that either of us even had any conception of the idea that people hated each other, enough to manufacture – _things_ – that could be used to hurt and kill one another. It was the first time we witnessed the darkness of mankind, a darkness that touched our hearts and just kind of stayed there, like a cancerous black lump. Steve had never liked us, we knew that much, but _this_ – this was the product of _hate, _and nothing more.

Mankind made plants, but they also made Panzers.

I vowed that I would never even look at a firearm again.

Strangely, my bond with Rem was strengthened. Knowing that she loved me enough to put up such a fuss over my possible death was just... it was really something. But I don't think Knives ever really felt comfortable around her again. After all, _he _wasn't the one that Rem had been embracing, who knew beyond all doubt that she loved us more than words could say. Instead, he had gotten yelled at for something he couldn't possibly have known. Even though Rem had apologized for her panicked reaction, I could tell that it was something that still bothered him. For a long time I waited and hoped that he would warm up to her again, but then – well, then the Great Fall happened.

It probably didn't help that, in the weeks leading up to that terrible day, Knives's exceptional memory most likely called forth a moment that I had already chosen to forget.

I'd flipped the safety on the gun exactly three times. It _hadn't _been on when we started playing with it.

Whether Steve had been lying to the crew and hoping we'd accidentally kill each other, or had really just forgotten that the safety was off, I'll never know. And I don't want to know.

* * *

A/N: So yeah, my headcanon can get... pretty dramatic. Maybe needlessly so? I especially hope Rem wasn't out of character here; I just always felt she had a tough-as-nails side to her that you didn't really get to see in the anime. Anyway, the next part should be up soon. Thanks for reading!


	2. Experience

A/N: Oh, boy. This story was only supposed to be two parts, but I had to split the second part up because of how _ridiculously_ long-winded I am. Thanks for bearing with me, whoever's reading this. :D

* * *

**Reflections on a Peacemaker**

**II. Experience  
**

It's been said that "guns don't kill people; people kill people." But it was guns that helped Knives engineer the loss of my innocence forever. Rowan killed Mary with a gun, and Knives shot Captain Joey before taking control of the ship. Maybe it was destined to happen anyway – "The Great Fall" definitely sounds like one of those natural acts of God, something no mere mortal could prevent – but I bet it would have been a hell of a lot harder for Knives to do what he did if those accursed things never existed.

At least, that's what I was thinking as we wandered through the desert of death lying iles below the ships. I spent most of that time hating Knives, hating myself, and missing Rem. And then it got worse.

We were all grown up, or at least as physically mature as we were going to get. Somewhere around fifteen years had passed. Knives led me to an abandoned SEEDS factory, then proceeded to disappear inside. He made me wait outside for him, for one. Whole. _Year. _By the time he finally returned, I was talking to myself and – honestly – no longer really all there, which I guess sort of explains what happened a few minutes later.

He hadn't returned empty-handed, either. He showed me what he'd made in the factory: two large guns, one silver and one black. He handed me the silver one.

"These are our new siblings," he told me. "And this one is yours."

One evil sibling was bad enough. I wasn't about to take on another one. Still, I accepted the gun, if only because it meant there was one less weapon in Knives's possession. On one level, it felt so wrong – the thing was _heavy, _and I thought back to when I was a child and trying to hold Steve's gun – and yet something inside me seemed to resonate, as though the gun was harmonized to my internal energies.

Knives shocked me even more when he aimed his own gun at the outlying desert, engulfing it in a bright light that rocked me back on my feet, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut. When I finally opened them, I saw that the desert had been reduced to even more of a wasteland than before: a rotted piece of land beneath a blood-red sky. I was livid, and also terrified. After arguing heatedly with Knives over his intentions, I did the unthinkable: I shot him.

In an instant, I had become the thing that I hated. As Knives knelt on the ground, screaming in pain and trying to ebb the flow of blood from his wounded leg, I did the second most unthinkable thing: I stole his gun and abandoned him.

I set off for no direction in particular, all the while possessed by a despair so deep that I thought it would gobble my soul into its black, gaping maw. I neither ate nor slept. Thoughts drifted in and out of my mind, none of them I could remember until much later. The thoughts mostly concerned the guns, now the objects of my loathing and obsession.

I didn't know what to do with them. Well, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with them, I just didn't know if it was _safe._ I could tell from the touch alone that Knives had inserted some of our own genetic material within the housing – God only knew why. That meant I probably couldn't just bury them somewhere. He would be able to tell where they were hidden, same as I could. And what I _wanted _to do – destroy them until not a trace of them remained on this planet – was simply too dangerous, considering the insane amount of power they could unleash.

After what must have been an eternity wandering the desert, I fell into the hands of a group of humans, who hailed from a floating ship in the sky – one of the SEEDS ships that hadn't succumbed to destruction in the Great Fall. There, I was nursed back to health and introduced to the _de facto_ leader of the group: a doctor who called himself Sensei, or (more conversationally) just Doc. We hit it off pretty quickly, and I was soon telling him the whole sad story. At first he was amazed by my origins, but he quickly sobered when I told him about Rem, Knives, and the _real _reason for the Fall. He was warm and empathetic, and I considered him my very first human friend.

I also told him everything about the guns.

They couldn't be hidden, I said. Sooner or later Knives would find them. But maybe –

"Can you destroy them?" I asked, hopeful.

"Unfortunately I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker," Sensei said, and he chuckled. When I stared at him, puzzled, he coughed. "...Oh, I'm sorry. Just a bit of humor from my younger days. Actually, it would be more apt to say that I'm not a nuclear scientist." His face became grave. "Because what you described to me sounds just like the mechanism for a nuclear bomb."

Suddenly I wanted to take the guns and throw them off the side of the ship. "...You really can't destroy them then?" I said, finally.

"I'm afraid not. As you yourself concluded, it is far too dangerous. Who knows what kind of Pandora's Box we would be opening..." He shook his head.

"Then what am I supposed to do with them?" I said, feeling helpless.

Sensei's face brightened as quickly as it had fallen. "You could learn to use them."

My voice was flat. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not," Sensei said. "You have an advantage over your brother now. If he is truly determined on using the black revolver to end humanity's existence, then he will be training as soon as he recovers. However, he will not be using _that _particular gun. If you learn to use the gun that he gave to you, and are able to incapacitate him when you see him – "

_"What?_ No! No way!" I tried to rise to signal my outrage, but Sensei just gave me a look, so I sat back down. "Even if I wanted to hurt Knives, it's the principle of the thing. I _hate _guns. And Rem wouldn't want me to be using one, anyway."

"I understand your reluctance," said Sensei. "Still – "

I shook my head emphatically. "I'll stop Knives, but I'll do it in my own way."

"Very well," he said, sounding disappointed but not terribly surprised. "Perhaps we could discuss it another time."

There was a beat of silence, in which I felt very ashamed of myself. It's not like I _deserved _any of Sensei's hospitality. He could have just as easily kicked me off the ship for being a monstrosity, and I wouldn't have blamed him at all.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to talk back like that."

"It's quite all right. I shouldn't have been pushing the issue onto you so soon. In any case, make yourself at home," the doctor said cheerfully, before the conversation could take a turn for the even-more-depressing-than-it-already-was.

"I would love to, but I can't stay," I said regretfully. "I have to go back to the surface and protect those people from Knives." Although how I was going to stop him with two guns that I wouldn't even bring myself to use, I couldn't rightly say.

"Then consider it your vacation home," Sensei said with a smile.

So that's just what I did.

I ran around the facility like a little kid (or maybe an escaped mental patient), touching all the little trinkets and contraptions that hadn't been present on the mother ship, and eating all the different foods cooked up by people of all ethnicities and from all walks of life. I swear I talked to just about _everyone _onboard that ship, from the littlest girl to the oldest senior citizen, asking them about life on Earth, and how could they stand sleeping in those frozen chambers for so long (even if they weren't aware for most of it)? I even chatted with the plant that was onboard, the one that had enabled the people to live out this ideal lifestyle (although I couldn't bring myself to tell her what Knives had done). I was heady with a new euphoria, and the people just smiled and took the bundle of craziness that was me in stride.

Someone eventually pointed out that the clothes I was wearing were little more than rags, and the citizens of Sky City – as they now branded themselves – got to work making me some new duds. I was touched when the ship's main seamstress asked if there was anything special I wanted made. Without thinking about it, I said that I would love to wear something that was all red, like geraniums.

And what do you know, she made _just _that.

The coat was beautiful. That first time I wore it was like... I don't know, it was like dressing for a wedding or something. It was _momentous. _I decided I wouldn't wear it again until I was back on the planet, as a symbol of the flowers that people deserved to see in the midst of that endless desert.

And that was just one of an endless number of gestures that was extended towards me. Living on that ship, among all those people, was one of the best things that ever happened to me. The people's kindness encouraged me to come out of the shell I'd withdrawn into while traveling with Knives. I learned to vocalize things other than fear and pain. For the first time in over ten years, I was happy.

Then the subject of the guns came up again.

Sensei asked if I had given any thought to the matter. I had, but not in the way that he intended. This whole time – in between scarfing donuts and beer and playing hopscotch with little children – I'd been trying to find some hidden solution to my dilemma, to no avail. I didn't want to admit that to Sensei, though.

"I don't need to learn how to use the gun," I told him again, this time in a tremorous voice. "Even if Knives isn't dead, I still have his gun. I'll make sure he never finds it. And anyway, there has to be another way to stop him. There _has _to be!"

"I want nothing more than to believe that," Sensei said sadly. "But if everything you've told me about your past is true, then Knives is at least as clever as you are – and twice as ruthless. He will stop at nothing to reclaim what is his."

I stared sullenly at the wall, memories flooding through me as inexorably as a tidal wave. There were so many of them... almost killing myself with that wretched gun when I was a child. Not knowing the intention of the one who left it. Finding Mary's dead body, and Rowan shooting repeatedly, gleefully. Knives's frozen expression of horror as I shot him in the leg. And Rem... Rem had said –

"Guns kill," I said. "I won't be a killer." I managed to sound petulant as well as panicked then. "You... you can't make me!"

"No one is making you do anything," Sensei said patiently. "But you must admit, there are precious few options at this point."

To this I said nothing.

"I'll admit it," Sensei said. "It is a terrible burden I'm putting on you, asking you to do this. But I believe in you. I believe that you can save what's left of this world."

Long after the doctor left, I stared at the wall and thought really hard, not allowing myself the distraction of food or fun. This wasn't something that I could put off any longer. I wondered what would happen to the people living below if I couldn't stop Knives. I wondered what would happen to the people _here. _Before I knew it, I could taste the tears that dripped down my cheeks and lips.

Sensei was right. There was no other choice. Maybe it was a burden, but it was still _my_ burden. Knives was _my _responsibility.

It was time to put up or shut up.

I continued to cry that night, just getting it all out of my system. Despite everything, I still missed Knives, even though I tried not think about him. In the end, he was my brother and I loved him; and I couldn't believe that it had come to this. I cried for lost opportunities and could-have-beens, at the horror and frustration of it all. I begged Rem for forgiveness.

The next morning, over a breakfast that I barely tasted, I told Sensei that I wanted to begin training.


	3. Reticence

A/N: _Sigh. _Even with all my edits, the rest of this was still too long to post in one shot, so there'll be one more chapter after this. (I promise!)

Also (although it may be too late to say this), I am _not_ trying to make any heavy-handed statements for or against gun use – like I said before, I'm just trying to examine one guy's personal philosophy on the subject. (The opinions expressed here of those of the characters and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of the author, blah blah blah...)

* * *

**Reflections on a Peacemaker**

**III. Reticence  
**

In preparation for my upcoming training, I pored over the ship's computer records for anything regarding the history and use of firearms. I learned that my own gun was a Colt type, which had an inverted barrel and ejected six .45 Long bullets. In addition to being a six-shooter, it was also a semi-automatic, which meant I'd be able to fire shots in quick succession. Looking over Knives's gun, I saw that it was the exact same model, just in black.

I decided from the outset that I would not practice with Knives's gun. I would have enough trouble mastering the one I had, and something about it seemed to – _reject _me, anyway. Which was fine by me. Sensei had a black leather suit made up for me, complete with its own holster, which we decided I would wear for every training session.

On my first day, I wasn't sure what to expect. I kept the silver gun placed firmly inside my holster so that I wouldn't have to touch it, even though I knew that ran completely counter to my new mission; and I went out to meet Sensei in the ship's sprawling main hallway. He led me to a part of the ship I hadn't yet explored.

"Obviously, I've had quite a bit of time to look around here," he said, as we walked down seemingly endless corridors. "But imagine my surprise when I found _this!"_

He palmed the keypad next to a rather imposing-looking door, and we walked through. I was taken aback at the sight that awaited me on the other side: a virtual training environment, where I could get in as much practice as I wanted without hurting anyone. It was a football stadium-length field, populated with rocks, chunks of destroyed buildings, and loops of chain-wire fencing. It was most likely meant to resemble a war-torn desert town on Earth, but it would serve my purposes perfectly. From the looks of it, the environment had already been activated. A bright light shone down on the vicinity, and I could already see ghostly figures dressed in military garb milling about: my virtual enemies.

"Sensei," I said, concerned. "What would a military training field be doing on a civilian ship?"

"I couldn't tell you," he replied. "Perhaps the governments of Earth decided to install it in case of just such a contingency."

"You mean the Fall?"

Sensei nodded. "Yes. However, after I found it, we all took a vote, and – to a man – we decided that we would not make use of it. Mostly to preserve the energy of the plant, but also because... well, we're a peace-loving people, and none of us really felt comfortable learning how to use a gun." He looked contrite at this last statement, and the expression on his face clearly conveyed the message: _I am a hypocrite._

"I don't blame you," I said. And really, I didn't.

"How do I shoot with the Colt?" I asked after looking around a few moments longer. "I wouldn't think it would work with something like this..."

"Well, I did a little something for you," Sensei said, sounding pleased. "I rewrote the program to accept your weapon for use in virtual training. You'll be able to use it just like a pre-calibrated laser gun." Another of those strange humanoid shapes appeared to our right. Sensei motioned for me to take up the Colt. "Try dry-firing at the target, Vash. You'll see what I mean."

I aimed the unloaded gun at the target, who was coming to resemble a man with each passing second. I adjusted the sight to focus on his shoulder, then pulled the trigger once. The man screamed and fell over, then vanished. I'd struck him in the heart.

Sensei beamed. "Incredible, isn't it?"

"No," I said bitterly. "I killed him."

"Vash, you mustn't take a mistake to heart," Sensei said gently. "None of this is real. You must practice so that this does not happen when you return to the planet."

"Well, it would help if my aim didn't suck."

"You'll get better. Trust me." Sensei tipped me a wink. "Your weapon is quite remarkable, you know. Because it contains some of your own DNA, I imagine that you will become accustomed to it very quickly."

"It's not _my _weapon," I said, sounding irritable and hating myself for it. Sensei was just trying to help me out, and I was being a jerk. "It's just... something I have to use to beat Knives," I murmured.

"I'm afraid that is the wrong attitude to take, Vash," Sensei said sadly. "Believe me, with all the wonderful things that mankind chose to bring with them to the stars, I wish that they had not decided to bring guns. But they are a reality now, and we must make the most responsible decisions with them that we can."

"I guess so," I said.

* * *

Much to my surprise – and disgust – I _did _get better. I absorbed in a few weeks what most men took months to figure out: things like double- and single-handed shooting techniques, how to duck and feint, and gun spinning (mostly to confuse my opponents, but also just because). I also employed mathematical equations and tried to figure out bullet trajectories on the spot, with a healthy amount of success. It soon got so that I was shooting the wings off the little virtual flies that occasionally buzzed across the perimeter of the training field (just for practice, though. I'd never hurt real flies!). Each day the Colt felt less heavy within my grip, and I was able to maneuver it as seamlessly as if it was an extension of my own body. Sensei often came out to remark on my progress, or bring me meals, because a lot of times I didn't think to eat.

"It's amazing just how superior plants are when it comes to speed and strength," he said one day, after I'd "killed" four men in one shot (which sickened me at first, until I reminded myself that Knives was probably practicing on _real _people). "I've often wondered, if a plant were able to survive outside of her bulb, just how she would fare in that particular area."

It's true – I was becoming a regular _pistolero. _And that made me feel miserable. I just couldn't accept that I was getting to know this gun as much as it was getting to know me (if that makes any sense). It didn't match the image I had of myself. I was certain that somewhere, Rem was disappointed in me.

In my research on firearms, I ended up coming across a children's book about a lion named Lafcadio, who discovers a gun in the jungle, and subsequently decides to practice shooting until he's the best sharpshooter in the world. He makes a name for himself with his incredible marksmanship and begins living among humans, where he entertains governments, signs autographs, and eats marshmallows for every meal. At the end of the story, Lafcadio is forced to choose between returning to the jungle or keeping on with the new human life he's made for himself. Unable to make a choice, he puts down the gun and walks away, feeling that he doesn't belong anywhere anymore.

I felt just like Lafcadio (and not just because I loved marshmallows, too). I just... didn't know who I was. I wanted to ease the suffering of the people living on the sandy planet far below, but I just felt like a killer instead. I wanted to follow in Rem's path and share the values of Love and Peace (as they'd come to be codified in my mind), but there was a part of me that was absolutely fascinated with guns: their properties, how they were crafted, things like that. I was scared that every day I was becoming more like Knives.

And right when I began to despair, that's when I started winning fights without killing anyone.

The computer that oversaw the VR training program offered varying levels of difficulty, and I generally kept to the easiest one, only proceeding to the next level if I felt comfortable enough with whatever I was trying to master. It was right around the time I was trying to improve my ricochet technique – felling the ghost people left and right with a slew of bouncing bullets, until none remained standing – when the computer had a message for me.

"CONGRATULATIONS." I started at the creepy voice that boomed from the speakers above me. "VICTORY ATTAINED WITH NO CASUALTIES."

I couldn't believe it. It had to be a fluke... right?

I re-ran the simulation, and the ghosts converged on me again. Just as I'd done before, I hit the ground and shot three times at an adjacent building. My calculations were correct, my aim true; and within moments, the ghosts were knocked flat on the ground, groaning and rubbing their wounds, but... _alive._

Alive!

I raced into the dinner hall, shocking everyone. My appearance was disheveled, and I looked like a maniac.

"Sensei! I did it!" My voice was breathless from excitement. Even a few days ago I wouldn't have been that enthusiastic about my progress. It was a sign of how the training was changing me, little by little. "I beat the simulation, and I didn't have to kill anyone to do it!"

Sensei put down his fork and smiled with approval. "Excellent work, Vash. Now all you have to do is achieve the same results for each difficulty level, and I believe you'll be ready. ...But before you take off, why don't you try some of the chicken marsala?" he said, offering me a dish. "You look like you haven't eaten in days."

"Don't mind if I do," I laughed, taking a seat next to him and digging in. For the first time in forever, I was starting to feel – well, if not great, then at least pretty okay about what I was doing. The next day, I returned to training with a vengeance.

The difficulty level increased a little every day, but so did my proficiency on the battlefield. It was my positivity that didn't last. Despite how well I was doing, I was still experiencing mental blocks. Would I really be able to master the final level without killing anyone? And even if I did, would I be ready to do any of this for _real?_

The day of reckoning came sooner rather than later. A mere week and a half later, I was keying in the access code for the most difficult practice level of all. I was also wearing the red coat. I figured it was about time to see if I was worthy to wear it, to be Rem's standard-bearer out there in the harsh desert wilderness. And although I'm not really superstitious, I felt that it imparted at least a little bit of strength to me.

_This_ particular level featured putting me up against an entire platoon of heavily armed – and heavily experienced – virtual soldiers. It was never meant for one person to undertake on their own; but rather, for a team of equal experience and numbers. I almost laughed as I read the description on the computer panel. When in the hell would I ever be facing down that many people, anyway? (_Oh_, how very wrong I was. Over a hundred years later, and I'd be evading entire freaking _towns _wanting to collect the bounty on my head.) I confirmed the parameters, then went to stand in the center of the training field.

I was immediately accosted by about forty ghostly soldiers: they poured in from the sky, from behind abandoned buildings, and over tall wire fences. I brandished the Colt and went to work.

I'd learned the lay of the land very well, and used most of the obstacles to my advantage. I leaped from rock to rock, firing shots and being careful not to let anyone touch me – or to get shot myself – since that resulted in me losing artificial health. The computer would only let my gun "reload" (so to speak) twice, so I tried to make every shot count. There was a scary moment when I almost took a guy's head off, but it ended up being okay – the ricochet effect that I'd intended when I made the shot resulted in the bullet striking the leg of his partner instead. I tried not to expend too much energy early on, and monitored the attack patterns of each soldier, identifying in seconds at what moments or in which places I should fire. I brought everything that I had ever learned to bear in this single training exercise.

Fifteen minutes later, and I'd succeeded in either immobilizing or disarming every soldier that had pursued me. All without taking a single life, and all with the use of my gun. The computer congratulated me on my success.

And yet I wasn't happy.

"I won," I said to the empty air, despondent. "So why... why don't I feel different?"

"That's simple," replied a gentle, beautiful, terrifying voice. It floated out of the darkness in a corner of the chamber like notes tinkling on a piano. "You haven't yet faced anyone on your own level. How can you feel prepared to return to the outside world when the only ones you've defeated are those weaker than yourself?" I whirled around, and there I saw –

_"Rem," _I said, all the breath going out of my body, so that it didn't even sound like I was saying her name, but instead just choking like a beached fish. Rem stood there, tall and beautiful and utterly unconcerned with my reaction. She had not changed one iota from how I remembered her, except for one thing.

She was holding Knives's black revolver in her left hand. She raised it now and continued to smile, like we were just having another one of our philosophy discussions over tea. Words left me, and my heart plummeted into the pit of my stomach with the force of a stone. I stared into the eyes of the woman who had raised me as her very own child.

"Hello, Vash. It's been a while."


	4. Acceptance

A/N: And the conclusion! Although now that I've finished it, I can safely say that this whole thing feels like the rough draft for a much better story... maybe it's a sign that I shouldn't be writing gen. :C

* * *

**Reflections on a Peacemaker**

**IV. Acceptance**

I was so helpless. All I could do was stand there, as immobile as a statue, as Rem kept the revolver trained on me. My gaze was drawn from her eyes towards the barrel, where I had a clear view down the open shaft: it seemed almost to be _widening_ before my eyes, like a tunnel that I could walk through if I just thought to do it.

"You can't save everyone. Nor can you protect yourself without dirtying your own hands," Rem said, as if that explained everything. I kept staring, unable to move past the fact that not only was Rem Saverem back from the dead, she was handling a gun like she had been born with it – and pointing it at _me. _I thought I would scream for the unreality of it all. I'd often dreamed of meeting Rem again, but never like this.

"There will always be someone stronger," Rem said. "Someone faster. And..."

The slightest hint of menace crept into her voice.

"Sometimes, there will be someone that you cannot resist."

And suddenly she was just – _there, _the barrel of Knives's gun planted firmly below my chin as her arms wrapped around my shoulders, like she was giving me a hug from behind. It's not that she was really fast; she just literally zapped herself from Point A to Point B. I wouldn't see movement like that again until Dominique, over a century later. I gasped as she pushed the gun down further, against my neck; I found it impossible to swallow the bile that arose in my throat. At the same time, I could smell the perfume that I had retreated into so many times in my youth. My senses grew cloudy...

Suddenly my survival instincts kicked in, and I wrenched myself out of her grasp just as the revolver discharged.

"Rem, what are you doing?" I managed to choke out, putting distance between us as I did. I don't think I ever felt a worse fear than I did that day, except for maybe when Legato was threatening the girls. Rem just eyed me coolly and raised the revolver again.

"I'm going to kill you," she said, still in those sweet tones. "That is, unless you can accept the truth of my words, and take my life first."

"Take your life? Never! I'd never do that!"

Another shot rang out; I dodged, taking cover behind a makeshift rock formation.

"You said that no one has the right to take a life!" I said. "And I believed you. I still do!"

"I'm allowed to be wrong, you know," she returned, dark amusement curving her lips. Her right hand reached into the pocket of her jeans. My body grew even more tense with fear, until I realized that she was pulling out a cartridge of bullets. She blithely tossed it over to me.

"Load your gun," she said. "You're going to need it."

My hands shook as I picked up the case of bullets. This couldn't be happening. It had to be some kind of dream –

Rem suddenly flashed into existence before my eyes. She stood before me, laughing softly, the black Colt still hanging at her left side. Her dark eyes seemed to say, _Go on, then._

I loaded the gun. My lips were moving soundlessly as the bullets slid home, and I realized that I was praying.

I expected Rem to take another shot at me, but instead she sort of – _flashed _forward – a few inches, and her free hand shot out and seized me around the neck. In the next moment, I found myself being thrust into the air. Rem held me up effortlessly, her body possessed with an impossible strength on top of everything else. I understood then that if I didn't act right that minute, my windpipe would be crushed.

"I have to say, Vash, red doesn't look good on you at all," she said.

_That_ prompted me to take action. But instead of reaching for my gun, I swung both legs up through the air and attempted to kick at the arm that held me aloft. Rem, anticipating this movement, vanished in the instant before my kick could connect, leaving me tumbling to the floor like a sack of bricks. I felt a strong draft of air as she reappeared behind me, just as suddenly. Again she fired her gun at me – and again I dodged, nearly striking my head against the rock as I scrambled desperately to regain _some _semblance of footing.

The battle – inasmuch as you could call one person trying to escape another a "battle" – went on for some time, until Rem was finally down to her last bullet. She directed a knowing look at me then, and in a brief flash of precognition, I understood that her final shot would not miss. By that time, I _did _come to grasp what she was saying. There really _were _only two options here: to kill, or to be killed.

No longer having the strength to run, I stopped in my tracks and turned around to face her. My breathing was ragged and my chest was tight from exhaustion; but still, I managed to raise my gun and point it at her. She just stood there and smiled, daring me to kill her.

I could pull the trigger on Rem, and forever banish the spirit of her that had been dwelling in me all this time. Then there would be no difference between me and Knives. But I wouldn't do that. I _couldn't _do that. Not to anyone in this whole wide world, and certainly never to Rem. Even if she only existed in my mind.

The only thing left to do was to submit. To die.

Because no matter what I thought or said, it wouldn't work. I would never be able to save everyone, not like this. It was a contradiction. All of my training... it had been for nothing.

Feeling tears of resignation coming on, I lowered the gun. I let my arm fall limply to my side and closed my eyes.

Knives was right. People and plants... spiders... and butterflies...

I waited for the end.

_No! You can't give up! Never, __**ever **__give up!_

My eyes flew open. This voice did not belong to Rem, or Knives, or Sensei, but myself. At the same time, as if I'd uttered a secret password, the cylinder in my gun grew hot to the touch, turned poker-red in my hand. My own body seemed to stretch out to touch all points of reality at once, as a multitude of channels suddenly opened up inside of me; and a river of energy began rushing from my gun into these channels.

I had no idea what was happening, but in the split-second between hope and despair, I sided with hope. I committed myself to just _going _with it – for the first time in my life, showing some trust in myself and my abilities.

My own determination of will had overpowered my decision to die, and I knew then: I was not going to give up. Not now, not ever. Slowly I began to stand up straight, trying to speak under the influence of that great power.

"I... will stop you..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that," Rem said pleasantly.

"I said..." My voice was stronger now. "I said I'll stop you. And I won't have to kill you to do it."

"But that just isn't possible, Vash. You are wrong."

"No! I'm not wrong, Rem! _You _weren't wrong!" I felt the exchange of energy – impossible to describe in words – flowing between the Colt and myself. I clutched it to my chest, screaming, the tears flowing freely from my eyes, down my cheeks. Before I knew it, the following words poured out of my mouth like hot oil: "I'm going to stop you! And I'll do it with _this!_ Because he made it for me! _He made it for me and it's mine!"_

Rem nodded. "That's a good answer," she said. "But it's not good enough." And then, without another word, she aimed the black revolver at my chest and pulled the trigger.

Of course, I was fast, too: as fast as a bullet, which is why I was able to see what happened next. In the same instant that the bullet was fired, the appearance of my gun changed. It seemed to have –

_Wings? Are those wings? _My fevered brain struggled to comprehend. A bulbous, organic mass had sprung from my forearm, spreading like a patch of weeds that had experienced accelerated growth; and it now covered the cylinder of my gun, ending in a pair of smooth, solid-looking wings. Unlike the fleshy stuff on my arm, they looked like they had been carved from pure marble. The very next moment, I felt the pain of a glancing blow – the wings had deflected the bullet meant for my heart – and I heard a soft_ oof _in front of me.

I blinked, and the wings – and growth – had vanished. Maybe they were never there to begin with. That's when I saw Rem kneeling on the floor, clutching her shoulder. It was bleeding.

_"Rem!" _And everything went out of my mind then. The gun slipped out of my fingers and I raced over to her side, dropping to my knees before her. I gently guided her body to the floor, keeping her top half elevated so that I could see the wound better. She didn't resist. She was just like the old Rem now, the Rem that I'd grown up knowing and loving. There was no ill intent in those soft brown eyes.

"Vash, bring me your gun," she said, her voice weak, her breathing labored. I felt the wash of her blood on my wrist, and now I could barely see her for the tears that filled my eyes.

"Rem, you're hurt. I have to – "

"Yes," she agreed, interrupting me with a smile. "But I'm alive. Now please. Your gun."

Wordlessly, I lowered the rest of her body onto the floor, then went back to retrieve the Colt. It came off the floor easily enough. Whatever power had been in the gun before, it was now gone: a fleeting memory. I brought it to Rem, and she placed her hands on it.

"You understand, don't you? This gun is part of you now. It's as much a part of you as I am."

"But I _don't_ understand," I wailed. "How can you _both _be part of me?"

"You understood the moment you claimed it for yourself," she replied, unconcerned by my tears. "When you told me that it was yours. There is nothing more for you to learn."

Her body gave a deep shudder then, and to my horror, she began to fade before my eyes. I leaned over her body helplessly and wrapped my fingers around her wrist, as though doing so would keep her tethered to this world.

"Rem... please..." My voice trailed off into indistinct murmurs.

"This gun is the means by which you will bring peace to this suffering planet. Vash... I wish you luck..."

She reached out with one transparent hand and stroked my cheek. Even though she was rapidly disappearing, I could still feel its softness. And then she was... _gone._

How long I knelt there weeping and waiting and hoping she would come back, I can't say. I felt at once liberated and agonized, empowered and destitute. It was the most bittersweet_ catharsis_ I had ever tasted. Eventually I passed out there on the tiled floor, only to awaken in the ship's emergency ward a day later. Sensei asked what in the world could have possessed me to bring real bullets into a simulated environment. I didn't know what to say, so I just told him the truth.

He stared at me, confusion knotting his brow. (He was kind enough not to mention the obvious fact that Rem was dead.) "But Vash, Knives's revolver has not moved from its spot for over a month now. What's more, the evidence shows that all the bullets we found lying around the VR field were fired from _your _gun."

He nodded at my right arm. "And the bullet that you say glanced off your arm and struck Rem... I believe it is the other way around. It struck the wall in front of you and ricocheted into your arm."

I looked over at my arm for the first time, unbelieving. There was a small scar on the forearm.

"It wasn't too much work to remove," he told me. "I don't know if you're aware of this, but your powers of regeneration are incredible. Your own body was already pushing out the bullet before we got to it. But I'm afraid that scar will be there to stay."

"That's all right," I said, continuing to gaze at what would be the first of many, many battle scars. "It's... perfectly all right."

* * *

The official story, of course, was that I'd had an hallucination, born of a lack of food and sleep. But for a long, long time – at least, right up until I took Legato's life – I believed that Rem really _had _been there that day, trying to teach me that no matter what weapon I chose to wield, I could always avoid killing others. There would always be another way out of a bad situation, if I just looked for one hard enough – and if I trusted in my gun.

Of course, I know better now. Rem had never been about tough love, and that was about the toughest love I'd ever encountered in my life. There's always been this twisted-up thing inside of me, something that wants to punish me and leave me feeling lower than dirt; and I believe that _that _was what was really at work that day. And perhaps it was the only way for my tortured mind to reconcile the disparate halves of myself: the gunslinger and the pacifist.

As for the rest of it – well, I suppose I still believe it, up to a point. At the very least, it's the belief that sustained me for the next hundred years. And it enabled me to realize this:

I was ready to go to the surface.

* * *

When I left Sky City a week later, I found Sensei waiting to escort me down the transport elevator. He held out a pair of tinted sunglasses to me. "To protect from the suns." I nodded and put them on, satisfied that they complemented the red duster that I had once again chosen to wear. I kept one hand on the holster that held the silver Colt, while the black one rested in my traveling bag. All of the friends I'd made I had already bid farewell. Who knew when I'd see them again, really. All I knew was that I would miss them desperately.

I have a long memory. It's rough.

We didn't say anything as the elevator started up, descending smoothly through the choppy winds that attempted to assault it. We just looked out at the twin suns blazing in the sky: a sight that neither of us had seen in over six weeks.

Then, finally: "I'm proud of you, Vash."

I responded by picking the little man up and hugging him.

"I'm sorry, Sensei. And thank you."

He chuckled. "You know, it's all right if you want to call me Doc. Everybody does."

"Okay," I said, hugging him tighter. "Thanks, Doc."

* * *

You can imagine, after everything you've heard so far, that I would finally lighten up about gun use. You'd be right and wrong, actually. I often think back to what Sensei said, about the fact that guns are a reality that can't be reversed. (Hell, the planet is called _Gunsmoke.) _The most that we can do about them now is to treat them with the respect that they deserve, and – should the need arise – use them to protect ourselves and our loved ones. That was something Frank Marlon practiced throughout his life, and although he paid a terrible price for it, I still believe in what he did.

Still, it's funny that _that_ was the biggest of my concerns all those years ago. These days, knowing what my body is capable of, I have to contend with the way scarier fact that (with the aid of the very weapon that I finally learned to accept as my own) I _am _a gun. But each day, somehow, it gets a little easier to bear.

Because I know now that I'm more than that. And I have others – friends – who believe that too. The girls believe it, and so did _he_, when he was alive. And it's what I'm trying to make Knives see now – even as he pushes me away, even when he lies in his bed and stares straight out the window at nothing when I come into his room, bearing food and advice.

If you're creative enough, and you have the will, you can turn just about anything to a new purpose. Perhaps biology _did _intend for us to destroy while our sisters provided healing and sustenance – much as the man who forges metal into a new weapon intends for his creation to take life – but that isn't the whole story. With our power, we can stop people from hurting each other. We can protect the weak and the innocent. We can ensure that our future is a happy one, brought to bear on the shoulders of those who have proven themselves moral and responsible.

We can, I believe, be peacemakers.

_The End_


End file.
